


Let's Rock the Heist, Boys

by Hammertimexx (orphan_account)



Series: Ain't Nobody Messin' With My Crew [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Fake AH Crew, Gangs, Gen, Injury, Lads Being Lads, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Hammertimexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, everybody remember the plan?”<br/>“Of course, boss. Nobody could miss it the third time around.”<br/>“Oooh, feisty sniper today.”<br/>“Shut up, assholes. I’m trying to call the coppers on us.”<br/>“Operation Fake Lost Santos, begin.”</p><p>-</p><p>For once, the heist goes completely right. No one dies, the six guys lose all the cops, they get tons of pay, and overall it goes off without a single hitch.<br/>The problem?<br/>A new gang begins claiming that the work was their own, and get all the credit and rep for it, leaving the guys in the dust.<br/>So what better to then for them to cause a heist that’ll frame the new gang?</p><p>(written by: Time)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Rock the Heist, Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the first prompt that Hammer gave me to write for our little impromptu Fake AH Crew series!  
> Terribly sorry if the actions scenes are crummy, I'm a self-titled dialogue specialist. Hammer is the one that's good with action scenes.  
> Let me know if you like it~  
> -Time

Los Santos Jewelry Mart was well out of 18,000 dollars, now. A perfect split of 3,000 for each of the crew’s members. The Heist went without a hitch, and was an overall complete and utter success. Save for a couple scraped knees and busted knuckles, nobody got hurt. On their side, at least. Certain crew members with specific homicidal tendencies couldn’t really help the small amount of casualties that occurred that night. If Geoff hadn’t already said so a million times, he would say that he was proud of his boys.

The apartment door burst open, all six of them piling into the space with celebratory expressions and noises left and right.

“I can’t believe it, it actually worked,” Jack ran a hand across his ginger hair. “It actually worked out.”

“Damn right it did,” Geoff grinned, taking Jack by the shoulder and leading him to the bar. “Did you doubt me?”

“Considering that the past few were so shittily thought out, yeah,” Michael jumped into the conversation, Gavin draped across his shoulders.

“Is shittily even a word?” the brit inquired, his dopey grin buried in the crook of the auburn haired man’s neck. Michael shrugged his face out and smacked him upside the head as best as he could with the guy’s long arms wrapped around his neck.

“Shut up, Gavin, this is a time for celebration. Jack, how about a few fixes of 6 Wise Men, eh?”

“Do we have enough Scotch for that?”

Once it was confirmed that yeah, there was a fuckton of Scotch in the cupboard, they started the process of mixing drinks. Meaning Jack and Geoff mixed them while the “young’uns” watched and held their glasses out expectantly. Ray watched them, snickering at how ridiculous his fellow lads looked.

“What’s so funny?” Ryan asked from his spot behind Ray, making the younger man jump.

“Jesus, Ryan.”

“Really?” The older man cracked a smile. “I didn’t think christ was the best source of humor. You’re losing your touch, Ray. Get with the times.”

“ _Lame_ ,” The hispanic laughed. “You tried so hard, and it was so bad that it was good.”

“Can’t help it,” Ryan drawled a bit of his Georgian accent slipping through. “I’m just too damn glad that I’m part of a group that knows what they’re doing. I’ve been hired to do some stupid shit, and this just frosted over all of that.”

“Same. Except I’m always hiding and watching them get their asses handed to ‘em,” Ray flopped down on the couch, settling his arms behind his head. “It’s a good time. Except for the ‘not getting payed for failed missions’ thing.”

“Yeah, not getting payed sucks ass,” Geoff added as he handed Ryan a drink and Ray a coke. “But you’re all getting paid now, so no worries about that. Unless somebody flips a tit or two and kills everybody, we all get an equal cut,” he gave Ryan a glance and a raised eyebrow at that, to which the older gentleman mirrored with a good natured grin. Everybody knew Ryan was absolutely insane, but he insisted that his homicidal rampages were a thing in the past. He didn’t do shit like that unless he felt it was necessary. He was really good at keeping his sanity in check. Still, the guys were careful with him on his bad days.

“No worries, boss. I’m not contemplating homicide. Got it all out of my system for the night,” he replied easily.

The other two decided to let him have that moment to himself. He seemed cheerful, but they both knew he was still a bit iffy. It had been a big night, and he made many buildings go boom. He needed some calming time before he was completely right as rain again. The other two lads decided to take this time to enter from the kitchen, Michael holding their drinks while Gavin did a somersault onto the couch (and Ray).

“Are you already drunk, Vav?”

“Nope!” he chirped, settling his legs in the other lad’s lap. “Just high off the christmas spirit, I s’pose!”

“He’s just really glad he didn’t crash a plane this time around,” Michael added, setting the drinks on the table and shoving at the brit. “Move, idiot. You’re taking up the whole couch and making Ray uncomfortable.”

“Dude, don’t speak for me. I could have a raging boner right now and neither of you would be the wiser.”

“What, are you saying your dick is sneaky?”

“Paha, sneaky dick!”

“Inspector Jones, reporting a sneaky dick on the loose. Inspector Free, do you read me?”

“Righto, sounds like we’ll have to do some sneaky dick sleuthing.”

“Hey, I bet my dick is sneakier than yours is,” Ryan added, earning a boisterous round of laughter from all three lads.

“Boys,” Jack muttered, trying to hide the grin on his face. He grabbed the tv remote and turned it on, another whoop coming from the lads as the jewelry store popped up almost instantly on the news. The windows were shattered (Ray’s doing), as well as the display cases (Michael and Geoff, mostly). The shop owner, heavily bandaged in the head (“I didn’t hit him hard, I swear,” Ryan said with his hands in the air when the others gave him an accusatory look) retold the encounter shakily, but claimed he couldn’t remember what they looked like because of their masks and the blow to his head (“Okay, maybe I did…”).

“Officer Reynold Johnson says that he is still on the case…” the news reporter trails off, a hand flying to her earpiece. “Oh! This just in, Los Santos, the capers of this robbery have shown themselves!”

Everybody in the apartment froze. They all stared at each other with similar looks of “which one of you assholes did this” and “I didn’t do it”. Geoff was the only one who cursed aloud.

“My sources report that the gang by the name of Lost Santos have openly claimed the credit to this most heinous crime. The police cannot track where they’re messenger called from, but they are trying their hardest to catch the criminals.”

“What the actual fuck.”

“Bollocks.”

“What the hell is a Lost Santos?”

“Officer Johnson, nooo…”

All these exclamations erupted at once as the newscast ended. They were all equally furious, including Jack, who rarely ever got pissed at anything. Michael, Gavin, Ryan and Ray were the ones talking about it, while Geoff sat silently and Jack watched him, searching the other man’s face for any sign of anger. Apparently whatever his face looked like didn’t seem good enough for Jack , as the tv was off before Jack dropped the remote on the floor and walked back into the kitchen, downing his drink and setting his glass down. He shuddered, his body full of fire. The boys liked to call him a gentle giant (Ginger Giant, a few of them teased), but they were also aware of his hulk like tendencies when he was really mad.

“Alright, hey, hey!” Geoff shut everyone up, laying a hand on Jack’s chest as the ginger went for a nearby lamp to take his anger out on. “No need to get pissy, now. They're stupid shits and they'll pay for it later, yeah, but they didn't get the money. All they've got is the police on their tails while we sit here and enjoy our cash. Right?” he offered, clapping Jack on the back and leading him to an open seat. 

The others nodded their agreement, but the tone of the night didn’t return to the level of celebration it held before. Jack eventually cooled down, and Gavin returned to his spot on top of the other lads. They changed the subject, eventually all deciding to get some sleep and work on it in the morning.

-

It wasn’t uncommon around here that customers arrived in the later hours. Los Santos was a sketchy place at night, drunkards and druggies stumbling about while the police sat around and sipped coffee. To be a store clerk and work the night shift was always a wildcard; you could either have nothing happen at all, or have something very interesting occur.

The clerk popped her gum, having nothing better to do. The surveillance cameras offered nothing too interesting, save for a single car that pulled up in front of the stoor.

It wasn’t uncommon for customers to enter in the later hours. However, most of them didn’t show up sober. Or clad in all black and a mask.

He wasted no time in making his way to the register, his steps simple and casual.

“Hello love,” he said smoothly. The store clerk noticed his british accent and blushed. No doubt he was attractive with a voice like that. “What’s your name?”

“Um...Catherine.”

“Catherine,” he drawled, making her blush even harder. He seemed to notice that he was doing so. “Beautiful name. I’d tell you mine, but it wouldn’t be mysterious that way.”

“What can I help you with?”

“I’m going to need all the money in your register.”

She hesitated. He did not. “...Excuse me?”

He pulled a gun out of his jacket and aimed at her in one fluid stroke. “I didn’t stutter, did I?”

The friendly tone in his voice was instantly gone. Everything froze in the store clerk’s mind. She had been warned about these types of things when she first started working here, but she hadn’t taken the night shift until just recently. Her hands were the first thing to move, raising up in surrender. The masked man only chuckled.

“That won’t be necessary. Just give me the money, alright?”

He pushed a small bag into her hands, motioning for the register with his free hand. She shakily filled the bag, watching him stand there unwavering. Tears prickled in her eyes when she finally gave him the bag and his gun was still trained on her.

“Thank you. Now, I’m terribly sorry to do this, love, but a job is a job.”

A gunshot rang through the small store, and searing pain hit her in the stomach. She saw him walk away with the money before she collapsed behind the register, her shirt stained red.

-

Gavin was out. There’s one of the three. Ray watched from his hiding spot across the street, scoping into the window of the store next door to Gavin’s designated target. Michael was in there. Geoff was in the one next to that one, which would probably give them the most money considering its popularity. The cashier didn’t look like he was cooperating very well. Ray tapped his earpiece.

“Charlie Two to Alpha Two. You there?”

“Alpha Two here. How’s it going?”

“Bravo Two and Charlie One have hit their targets. They’re leaving for the rendezvous, be prepared for cops.”

“Got it.”

The sirens were already close enough to hear. Ray considered talking to Geoff, but it seemed he had everything in control, more or less. The cashier was obviously dead now, unless there was a way to survive a bullet to the temple. Ah well. Business is business.

“If they keep moving after I shoot their windsheilds and or their brains out, you have free reign to fuck their shit up,” He told Ryan, scoping out the oncoming officers.

“Works for me,” Ray could hear the wide grin in his voice. “Alpha Two out.”

-

“They’re on the move!”

“Then chase them, rookie!”

If being a store clerk and having your store robbed on your first night shift was bad, being a new police man was even worse. The new officer tightened his grip on the steering wheel, making a sharp turn onto the street of the convenience stores. He saw their masks before anything else, but it was the last thing he saw for a while before his windsheild shattered. He turned to where the older officer was sitting, noticing a bullet hole in his head. He tried yelling at the old man, desperate to elicit any sort of response from him, but it was useless.

What a pleasant evening to be new on the job.

He kept pushing forward, squinting as the air flew through his broken windsheild and made his eyes water. The masks were still in sight, bags of money slung over their shoulders as they hopped on bikes and evacuated. He felt something hit the side of his truck, but payed no mind to it.

“This is Deputy Blake, calling for reinforcements. Officer Winters is down. I am in pursuit-”

Whoever was on the other side of the transmission could only hear the loud explosion of what could only be assumed was Deputy Blake.

-

“Another successful robbery from the Lost Santos! Last night, three neighboring convenience stores were robbed, each cashier at the time mortally wounded by bullets. Two of them are in the Los Santos hospital, and the last man by the name of Harrison Miller died instantly. The infamous group has claimed another victory, and have told our officers that they are planning many more. Sleep with your doors and windows locked, citizens of Los Santos. It’s a dangerous time to be alive.”

“Not only are we not getting the credit, but that news lady looks like she’s shit herself twice and fainted at least three times. Damn...” Ray rambled. Ryan nodded, not really listening as he turned the page of his book. Gavin was surprisingly calm today, swirling his drink absent-mindedly in his seat between Ray and Ryan. Michael was in the shower, and Jack had gone out to buy groceries (as he was the best at not looking like a wanted criminal). Geoff only grunted in response, lost in thought. Whoever these guys were, they were a real pain in the ass.

“Douchebags. What do they think they’re getting from this?” Michael muttered from the other side of the apartment, where he had just finished getting decent enough to step out into the living room again.  Michael walked out a moment later wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair wrapped up in a towel. Gavin was going to make a stupid comment, but Michael shut him up with a look before so much as a squeal could make it out of his mouth.

“They’re getting the reputation we’re supposed to have. And the worst part is we have no fucking idea who they are. They never show their faces, but they do give out their name quite a fucking bit,” Geoff muttered.

“How much is a _fucking_ bit?”

“Shut up, Gavin. This is serious shit.”

“I can’t help it, I’m just not all that perturbed by it! It’s not like they’re stealing the reward from us. We’re still rich while they’re pretending to be. Why get all frustrated over something that doesn't affect us all that severely?”

“I partially agree with Gavin on this one,” Ryan chimed in, looking up from his reading. “We’ve mentioned it a million times before, but they aren’t gaining any money from this. So who really cares? When they show their faces, we’ll be there to take them down. It’s just a matter of patience.”

Geoff hesitated, but reluctantly agreed after a moment. No use getting worked up over somebody who wasn’t worth it, right? That’s what he decided to think, anyway. If they showed their faces, then they were fucked. But for now, they’d just continue on. Hell, they did make it a hell of a lot easier to escape the authorities. They’d take advantage of that while they could, he supposed.

“However, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re not getting hired for new jobs under the pretense of our success,” Ryan added. Geoff scowled at him. That certainly didn’t help ease his mind.

The room fell silent for another moment before Gavin started giggling. Geoff shook his head. “What is it this time, asshole?”

“Michael has a towel wrapped around his head.”

“And?” Michael added, crossing his arms. The brit only giggled more at his posture.

“I just feel thoroughly tickled by this image, is all. You’re a right proper hair dryer.”

When Jack walked in, Ray was sitting on top of Michael’s back and whooping cheerfully as the auburn haired man pinned a squirming Gavin to the floor and smothered him with a wet towel.

-

 

The preceding heists all played out much like the first two, where everything went perfectly, except the credit was stolen. The Lost Santos became incredibly infamous, by both the regular citizens and the local crime rings. Meanwhile, the Fake AH Crew had become something of a joke. To the major (and minor) crime lords, they were yet to pull a successful heist. Nobody was hiring them. But surely, these other guys were getting cash thrown at them for their portfolio of copy-and-pasted works.

Geoff was pissed. Beyond pissed, now. Ready to kill a man or two.

Or perhaps the entirety of the asslords that call themselves the Lost Santos.

 

-

Since the perpetrators were currently anonymous, it wasn’t difficult to make connections and get a job under their name. They were hired for a robbery within two days. Geoff silently hoped that it would be the same for him and his boys after this.

“So, everybody remember the plan?”

“Of course, boss. Nobody could miss it the third time around.”

“Oooh, feisty sniper today.”

“Shut up, assholes. I’m trying to call the coppers on us.”

“Operation Fake Lost Santos, begin.”

They put their masks on and left Ray at his post with his emergency sniper, Gavin hanging up on the police by the time they made it inside the convenience store.

-

“Give us the money, bitch,” the man in the mask sang , his voice cracking. The woman behind the counter looked confused in the split second it took for the guy to pull his hand gun on her. The second guy took the money and handed it to the third. It only took a couple minutes before the sirens could be heard.

“Shit, book it guys, it’s the feds!” the first man croaked again (the others had to hold in their laughter at that, but the cashier didn’t notice this). While three of them made a run for it, two stayed behind.

As the police entered, the store clerk witnessed the oddest of encounters between criminals and cops.

-

When the six of them finally made it back to their designated hiding spot, they all sat back and laughed.

“Jesus, you what?” Michael snickered. “You’ve done it this time, Gavvers.”

“I’m gonna need some ice for my face, but it was well bloody worth it.”

“If this had been a heist we wanted to successfully pull I would’ve flayed you alive, you beautiful disaster.”

Gavin laughed, wincing slightly at the welt he could feel blooming.“Understood, Geoffrey.”

Mission accomplished. They went in, completely botched it, and got out. Hopefully, the real Lost Santos would come out of hiding when they saw this one.

It takes two to tango, after all.

-

Yep, Gavin thought, the black eye was definitely worth it. Michael said it wasn’t all that great, punching a cop in the face. He’d done it plenty of times. Ray said he’d only do it if it was necessary. All the gents, in their own words, had called him stupid a hundred times over. But the brit could care less. He was a man, now.

What it wasn’t worth, however, was the smell of frozen peas so bloody close to his face at all times. If he left it on his face long enough, he gagged. But if he took it off, everybody instantly told him to put it back.

Ryan took it upon himself to take care of Gavin, giving him a new ice pack every couple hours and keeping the painkillers close by.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked again, letting the lad throw his legs into his lap.

“I’m better than fine, you sausage. I punched a cop,” he gave the unmasked man a dopey grin, which was somehow even more ridiculous looking with his left eye bruised and swollen shut. Jack walked in just then, the remote to the tv in his hand yet again.

“Alright, let’s see how they fared with this one...” Jack turned around, calling into the kitchen. “Geoff, don’t get drunk yet. You still need to comprehend some of this.”

The mustached man sauntered over, a beer in hand. “Don’t worry your big little ginger head, I’ve only had half a bottle so far. I’ll down the rest in a couple minutes.”

Jack didn’t necessarily want to know how much _the rest_ was, and the subject was thankfully changed as the news started on the story.

“It looks like the infamous gang, the Lost Santos are not as threatening as we thought they were. Supposedly hired to rob a store the other night, the group not only dropped the money a block away, but we also caught security footage of one of them punching an officer in an attempt to start even more trouble.”

A clip of Gavin in a bright mask performing a graceful uppercut on the police officer in front of him was shown, and a few seconds later into the clip the police officer reeled back and punched him in return. Geoff winced as the clip ended, remembering having to drag the british idiot out of there. Said moron made a soft sound of success and whispered something along the lines of “Look at that, you mongs, I’m bloody famous”.

“...Next to the discarded money, the officer’s also found a folded document, showing thee plans for the past robberies that have been performed and the name _The Fake AH Crew_ …”

It was such a cheesy tactic, and Geoff knew it. It had been Jack’s suggestion (the man was giving him a smug look that clearly said “I told you so”). He honestly didn’t even think it would work, but it turns out the Los Santos police force is dumber than he thought. The reporter put extra emphasis on their name, and the man couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Damn right, they were to be remembered. Officer Reynold Johnson, a middle aged man with a great plethora of grey hairs, appeared on the screen. Police lights flickered behind him while a microphone bumped around in front of him.

“...Whoever this Fake AH Crew is, we think that they are part of the bigger scheme of things,” he stated, making small nodding motions with his head to look smart. “We think that the Lost Santos are perhaps just the henchmen to this group. While this Fake AH Crew plans everything, the Lost Santos just carry it out. We also think that the reason this robbery was not as successful was a combination of it not being planned by this group, and also the absence of a higher power within the actual robbery crew.” He took a tissue from god knows where and blotted his shiny face with it. “There is no way that a gang with such precise crimes would leave their lackeys without supervision.”

“They wrote the story out for us. We didn’t have to do shit!” Jack watched, the grin on his face growing bigger with each word the officer had to say.

“Cool. But I have a question,” Ray looked at Geoff and Jack, an eyebrow raised. “Where do we go from here?”

“Not very far, actually,” Michael walked into the room, an alarm on his phone going off. “Somebody is setting up sniping gear on the roof. So either it’s one of them up there, or that’s not Ray.”

Gavin looked at Ray (or who he thought was Ray, at least) and pursed his lips. “What was the last would you rather question I asked you?”

“You asked me if I’d rather bathe in semen if it meant I’d be clean for months, or eat my own shit if it meant I wouldn’t be hungry for a year.”

“...What was your answer?”

“Jizz bath, of course. I like food too much.”

Gavin nodded his approval. “Yep, that’s Ray.”

“Christ, that’s disgusting,” Jack muttered. Geoff shook his head in agreement.

“Got a plan, boss?”

“...I may have a couple ideas.”

-

“Do you know where your targets are?” the man on the other end of the call asked.

“They’re all inside,” the man on the roof confirmed, setting up the last of his equipment. Six candid photographs were laid out in front of him, each with the face of a different man. After all the research he’d done, he’d be able to spot one of these men a mile away. He was good at what he did. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been hired into one of the most infamous gangs in Los Santos. Given, they were a total lie, but cleverly so. “If one of them steps foot outdoors, I’m ready for them.”

“Is that so?”

Before he could turn around, the cold muzzle of a gun made contact with the back of his head. A gunshot rang through the air, alerting the man on the other end of the phone that something had gone terribly wrong. Somebody picked up the phone before he could hang up.

“I don’t know who you work for, but my boss has a few words for you folks,” a deep, bone chilling voice rumbled. “Tell the rest of your crew to get their asses to the junkyard. Now, or we’ll fucking find you and put you there ourselves. And if we have to resort to that, there’s no guarantee that you’ll show up alive.”

“Jesus christ,” the man muttered, fear evident in his voice. Ryan grinned, wiping the sniper’s blood off of his cheek.

“It’s a bit too late to pray, friend. See you in a while. Oh, and thanks for the gun.”

The call ended in a frenzy of static and a soft chuckle.

-

Meanwhile, the others were hauling their asses to the junkyard. Gavin insisted on wearing an eyepatch (“I’ll look more intimidating this way!”) to the brawl, but besides that, their faces were exposed. These guys definitely weren’t getting out alive, and they were going to die knowing who it was that killed them. Besides, the security cameras in the junkyard were shut off for the weekend.

It wasn’t until twenty minutes later that Ryan showed up on a motorcycle, his mask in place (“I dunno about you guys, but I’m not taking my chances. I’d rather not get banned from public restaraunts.”) and his explosives bag slung across his back. Michael grinned.

“We making things go boom, Ry?”

“Fuck yes,” the older man replied, parking his bike. He shouldered off his bag and opened it, throwing a couple grenades to the auburn haired man. The others prepared their guns, making little conversation. To be perfectly honest, nobody knew how good the Lost Santos’ men (or women, they didn’t even know that) were.

“I don’t think they’re worth shit, considering they had to steal the credit to somebody else’s work to become famous.”

Geoff could agree with that logic if it meant he could beat the shit out of them with little struggle. He voiced his opinion aloud with a colorful vocabulary. Ryan offered a more cautious approach, however.

“I don’t know, it may just be a front. The sniper they had on our building had some pretty good equipment. He had pictures of us up there, too. No doubt he had our faces memorized. They might know exactly what they’re doing and just be too lazy to do it themselves.”

“I’m with Ryan on this one. The Professionals do shit like that all the time, except they usually paid the guys to represent,” Ray backed him up.

“But sometimes they’re fucking dicks when things don’t go their way,” Geoff seethed. Ray grinned a little.

“Yeah, it doesn’t usually work out for the guys getting paid. But the ones paying keep their hands clean, and that’s all that really matters to them.”

“Did the Vagos ever do anything like that?” Gavin asked. Ray laughed.

“Not the paying part no, they were usually the ones getting paid. A bunch of hispanics, remember? They’re like the sharks in West Side Story, but rated R for racism and really fucked up shit. One guy scalped a dude because they made eye contact.” Ray shuddered. “Geoff, just never die ever, alright? I’d rather not go back.”

Everybody chuckled except for the sniper, who looked dead serious for a moment before Geoff’s expression softened. He sighed.

“If anything, you boys are going to be the death of me. I feel like your dad or some stupid sappy shit like that.”

“...Does that mean Ryan is the creepy uncle?” Michael added after a moment of silence. The mood instantly brightened.

“Only if Jack is our mother. There’s no way the two aren’t hypothetically related with voices so similar,” Ray decided. Michael laughed and gave him a fistbump. “Then we’re the shithead children. Gavin is adopted.”

“What, _why_?” he squawked, darting his eyes to Ray for a split second and then back at Michael in confusion.

“I was going to say because you’re British. Geez, Gavin.”

“Racist,” Ray half-whispered.

The group erupted with laughter while Gavin muttered a load of apologies (all of which Ray brushed off, explaining to the brit that he was only joking), before Jack caught sight of something in the horizon and shook at Geoff’s shoulder.

“As great as it is knowing that we all love each other and shit, it looks like we have company.”

-

It was both good and bad that the opposing group could only fit in two cars. Good because there weren’t many of them, but bad because they were still presumably outnumbered. They parked on the opposite side of the junkyard and piled out, and Geoff was surprised at how small they really were. Six of them. Just like his own crew. They all wore half masks, not unlike the white one that Ray owned. They reminded him of Phantom of the Opera. Alright, so they were cliche as shit. Great to know, the boss thought.

There had to be more back at their home base, seeing as they had a sniper at their disposal a couple hours ago. Tension filled the air as the opposing gang approached. Geoff lead the others to meet them halfway, like the chivalrous mafia they were.

“What’s up with the extra car?” Michael asked casually. As he expected, the question wasn’t answered. Instead, the man in front of Geoff stepped forward some more. Geoff mirrored him.

“Killing my crew, huh?” he asked, his voice not all that deep. On a scale of one to Ryan Haywood, he would give him somewhere between a Gavin Free and a Ray Narvaez Jr.

“Felt threatened. There’s really no other explanation.” He raised an eyebrow to the man. “You, however, have done some pretty stupid shit to us. Care to explain yourself?”

The man stared, and then tried to punch Geoff in the face. He dodged it, but the swipe at his feet went unnoticed. He fell on his ass, glaring at the offender.

“Nah.”

The sound bullets and fighting erupted before Geoff could even register the word. Michael and Ryan were naturally the first to advance, while Ray and Gavin kept to the sides and shot whenever they found the opportunity to. They were some nimble fellows, those Lost Santos boys. Bullets didn’t easily hit them. Even with their close proximity, something about them was tricky. They made the agreement not to kill anybody, only to incapacitate. Michael was verging a bit off of that agreement, aiming a little higher as he became more agitated. Geoff managed to get back up on his feet before the man in front of him made another move.

“Boss, there’s someone else in the car!” Jack roared into the cacophony. It seemed that everybody except the boss heard him, and Ryan was the first to shoot at it. Ray immediately ran back to his equipment. Shouts such as “shoot the tires” and “cover me” made their way about while Geoff grinned wolfishly at the man he was fighting.

“So you’re a decoy, eh?”

“Boss!” Jack yelled again.

Said boss was punched in the nose, blood now trickling from his nostrils. “God damn it,” he muttered, wiping at the blood with his sleeve to no avail. The other man pulled out a knife, but Jack got to him first, shooting him in the shoulder. He cried in pain, dropping the knife while another shot hit him in the leg. He was down. Geoff looked up at Jack with a crooked grin and mouthed a quick “thanks, asshole” before taking the knife himself and moving for a new target.

Gavin was the first struggle that he spotted. He was in what looked to be hand-to-hand combat, but right at the last minute as Gavin took a chance to glance at his boss, his current sparring partner brought out a knife and got him in the side. He didn’t twist it while it was pressed into him or anything equally as shitty, but the brit was still in shock afterwards, blood pouring from his opened wound. Geoff hissed. That caught the guy’s attention, and he went for Geoff with his blade in front of him as if they were going to fence like gentlemen. Fucking moron, walking in and stabbing his boy and expecting respect. Geoff dodged his initial attack and kicked him in the back of the knees, jamming his knife into the back of his cranium while he fell.

“Gavin, this is why we can’t have nice things,” the older man growled as he hoisted the brit to his feet. Gavin wobbled a bit as they made their way behind some crates.

“Woah, hey, still need to help you guys!”

“Not in that condition, you’re not.”

“Don’t baby me,” he whined. “I’m an adult, I can die if I so choose to if it means buying you time.”

“You dramatic idiot. It didn’t hit anything important. You’re not going to die, but you will if you’re standing up and pumping blood through that wound, and it’ll be the most moronic death ever. And you wouldn’t buy us time, I’m pretty sure we’re already down to four of them. I’ll stop acting like your mother when you fucking earn it,” Geoff snapped, gingerly setting him down. “Sit here, grab a gun if you’re so inclined, and don’t bleed out. Are we clear?”

Gavin swallowed at the concern that laced with the anger in his boss’s voice. He really did care. But he was fucking scary when he did at times like this. “Crystal.”

“Good. Jack, do you have any first aid on you?”

“You say that as if I’d leave without it,” the ginger replied with a snort, handing the incapacitated brit a pistol. “It’s in the car. I’ll fix you up when we’re done, which should be shortly.”

Their car promptly burst into flames right at that moment.

“...Well, that was painfully ironic.”

He didn’t care that Gavin was injured, Geoff punched him in the arm anyway.

-

Each of the Lost Santos men sent on this little mission had been assigned one of the crew’s members in an attempt to familiarize themselves with an otherwise unpredictable group. Nobody could find very much on the ginger bearded one, and even less could be found on the man in the skull mask. However, there was one that they had a solid criminal biography on, if not a slightly vague one.

Born in New Jersey, Michael Jones joined the crime rings at the ripe age of 22. He supposedly started doing minor robberies on his own, and then ascended among the ranks as a hitman of sorts. He did small jobs for various gangs and crime groups. It wasn’t until just recently that he joined a mafia family, The Fake AH Crew. He was well known for his infamously short temper, and the violently loud outbursts that followed his sour moods.

Because of this, Jones was never a very polite fighter, always throwing curses at his opponent and making lewd gestures whenever he felt the mood striked. This time, however, his lips were pressed into a concentrated line, and his hands clutched his gun with white knuckles.

The Lost Santos man noticed this, a slight grin creeping onto his face. That only served to anger the man more. He had researched the hell of out this auburn haired criminal, trying to learn his tactics inside-out. Unfortunately he didn’t have any specific fighting styles to his name, unless you counted the advantage his distracting tantrums usually provided.

The punch the man tried to deliver was dodged easily, and the butt of Jones’ gun nearly got him before he tackled the hitman to the ground. The gun was out of his hands, and he hissed out a quick “you motherfucker” as he blocked the incoming punches and wrestled to roll himself over. He was only half successful, pushing the Lost Santos man off of him and rolling himself sideways before scrambling to get upright again.

They continued like this for quite some time, realizing that they were at a stalemate but neither of them wanting to admit anything less than victory.  Jones threw another punch, this time actually hitting the man. While he gathered his bearings, noticing blood when he drew his fingers back, he heard the shout of the hitman.

“Not so tough now, huh? I haven’t even broken a sweat yet.”

That and the tense chuckle that followed gave the other man some motivation to dive for Jones’ legs, sending both of them toppling to the dusty ground. He straddled the other, keeping him from moving any more than necessary and throwing punches and scratches to his face. The fight continued, the Lost Santos man attacking and Michael Jones blocking.

-

“You need to keep pressure on the wound.”

“I need to keep shooting is what I need to do, Jack.”

“Alright, then this is going to be really fucking awkward. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jack peeled Gavin’s shirt off, ripping it into a suitable bandage while the brit continued to shoot randomly. He then wrapped it around and held the brit’s waist, pressing into his wound to keep the bleeding from getting out of hand. Gavin hissed, but otherwise didn’t make any comment. “When you’re done ‘making the monkeys dance’ or whatever it is you’re doing there, I’d really appreciate it if you just took it easy.  I think the guys have it, and you’re going to bleed out if you’re stupid enough.”

“Whatever you say, mum,” Gavin mumbled, shooting at the ground to keep the other crew on their toes. Jack didn’t react to the nickname as much as Gavin would have liked.

“I might have painkillers in a bag somewhere. Can you swallow pills dry?”

“I can try, but you know my gag reflex is horrid.”

“Well, it’s either throw up in an attempt to make yourself feel better or whine about pain for god knows how long. Your choice, Gav.”  

As much as he hated to admit it, Gavin really appreciated how doting Jack was in situations like this. If it wasn’t for him, they all would’ve been dead a long time ago. He didn’t really elaborate on his life before the crew, but the brit suspected there was medical training somewhere in there. Either that, or Jack was really good at researching. Well, he was really good at doing research, but that was beside the point.

Out of the six of them, Jack was the one with the best kept record. Either he was completely new to the crime world, or he was very good at covering his tracks. Many clues that he’d dropped around them lead to the latter. For instance, he told them that he knew far too much about the Los Santos judicial system than he cared for, all because of a past job. Another example was the amount of knowledge he had on the military base’s security and what kinds of vehicles would get them out of whatever situation they found themselves in. He was called “The Wheels” for more reasons than one. Not only was he their getaway guy, but he assured that their plans always stayed in motion.  

Gavin swallowed nervously, going back to the task at hand.

“Alright.”

“Good, because I have ‘em right here.” The bearded man’s eyes twinkled, walking back in Gavin’s direction. He hadn’t even noticed that the pressure on his wound had disappeared quite some time ago. Had he really been spacing out that long? “It’s a good thing I got ‘em, you look like you’re gonna pass out at any moment, and there’s no way I’m holding you and getting jabbed by your bony excuses for limbs all the way back to the apartment.” Well, that explained the sudden loss of time. And he was feeling a _bit_ under the weather, now. He was distracted from his topic, however, as Jack took out two pills and handed them to the brit. “Bottoms up.”

“...Bollocks.”

-

Ryan hadn’t taken much notice to the fact that the Lost Santos men were all wearing the same suit. To be honest, he just thought they were showing off the wealth they earned through stealing from them. It had irritated him, yeah, but he didn’t take it as anything other than mockery. He should’ve known better.

The suits were camoflauge.

It was obvious to Ryan that the extra man was no longer in the car. But he blended in too well with the rest of his men that in their small skirmish, and the gent had lost track of who was fighting who. Naturally, he needed to make some sort of variance between these people. Throwing an explosive underneath the car that they had spotted the man in, he returned to the fight to mix things up a bit.

He started by slipping another one of his bombs underneath one man as he ran past. It was a subtle enough motion that the man didn’t seem to notice, as he was far too busy trying to shoot at the others. He was their Jack, Ryan noted. The one that defended, but most likely had intelligence elsewhere in the crime genre. Maybe he managed the money, maybe he was their vehicle expert. But he certainly wasn’t the offensive one in the group. Even if he was, he wouldn’t be much help if he was in pieces. The two that he assumed were their Michael and Ryan were only half alive, one of them laying face first in the dirt with a knife sticking out of his skull. Funny, Ryan thought. He didn’t remember doing that. The other man was still going, he and Michael now locked in a proper brawl. Michael had dislodged the man’s mask, offering up a fairly busted face. Good. That was two of the four.

Ryan noticed Gavin had been forced to retreat, and Ray was still waiting cautiously on the roof of the junkyard, ready to aim whenever the signal was given. Still, they outnumbered the Lost Santos easily. They could simply leave these guys in the dust and drive off into the sunset if they really wanted to.

That semblance of an idea was crushed as soon as their car set on fire, exploding not a few moments afterwards. The noise seemed to distract the others, and Ryan spotted one of the two unmarked men running in the direction of their own furthest car. The gent was ten steps ahead of the man, detonating the explosive he planted mere minutes ago. He could see him curse as his escape was ruined before he started to move to him. They needed somebody to interrogate, right? This guy seemed to know what was going on here. Ryan decided it was a splendid idea.

The other man, however, didn’t really seem to think this was a good idea at all. He scrambled in any direction his feet would take him, as long as he wasn’t approaching Ryan. Said man kept the chase, however.

Geoff found this to be the funniest thing he’d seen in a long time. If he hadn’t been reloading his gun and precariously aiming for the head of the man fighting with Michael, he would’ve doubled over with laughter. Jack did it for him, though. And then while Geoff was distracted, Ray got the guy, his head suddenly shot clean through and his body draped over their curly haired counterpart. He made a face as he pushed the dead weight off of him. “Fuckin’ gross.”

“Got him,” Ryan said cheerfully, throwing the real leader against the ground with no restraint. The other five heard a snap, presumably a rib.

“Ah! Jesus fucking christ on high!” the man howled in pain. Geoff smirked at his colorful language. He was definitely raised here. He also didn’t have a very high pain tolerance, it seemed.

“You big baby, it’s just a broken bone,” Ryan tsked, crossing his arms.

“And hopefully it’ll be the last,” Geoff added, kneeling down to his level with a spine chilling glare. “That is, if you cooperate here.”

-

They got what they could out of the guy, who actually wasn’t the leader, but the second in command. The leader was either too afraid or too lazy to show up.

Ryan was surprised that the police hadn’t gotten involved yet. It took them about forty five minutes to sort this out, but the scrimmage itself made a whole bunch of noise. He checked his watch to figure this out, like he always did during their “outings”. They were nearing twenty one minutes and nobody showed up.

“Ryan, it would be absolutely stellar if you would do something other than stand there and stare at your watch. It’s fucking creepy,” Geoff called out casually, grunting as he pulled one of the corpses into the pile they started.

“Hey Rye-bread, wanna help clean up?”

Michael could see the other man’s eyes crinkle behind his mask as he grinned. “I’ve got just the thing.”

They stacked up the remaining bodies, setting off one of Ryan’s well preserved molotovs atop the pile. Everybody made an effort to stand downwind as they packed their shit up and mulled over the information they pulled out of the last man.

He was reluctant to admit anything, at first. Geoff had Ryan hold the man back while he forced choice words out of him. He was battered and bloody by the time he said anything of substance. When he gave them what he could, Geoff ordered Ryan to snap his neck. He’d seen their faces, after all. Anonymity was a rule of theirs that they had to uphold.

What they gathered was that the Lost Santos was a newer gang, slowly climbing up the ranks by claiming the successful heists of others, meaning The Fake AH Crew. The reason they chose their crew was because of how underestimated they were at the time. Nobody would believe them if they said they were the ones who pulled off the crime. The boss of their crew was never present at their little gang fight, and is in a safe house somewhere in the city. It was also revealed that a majority of the members moved from other gangs for the glory of it. The gang wasn’t too large, and half of them were burning in the pile outside of the junkyard.

It was only a matter of hunting the others down before they regrouped.

Jack called for a new car as they walked to the nearest street. Michael and Ray were supporting Gavin’s weight as they moved, one of his arms on each of their shoulders.

“So Geoff…” Gavin started, breaking the silence. “When you stabbed that guy in the back of his head...that had to have taken a lot of force.”

Geoff raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, so?”

“Are you really that strong, or were you just really pissed off?”

“To be honest Gavin, I’m always just a little pissed whenever you’re around.”

Michael laughed. “It’s like Bruce Banner. That’s his secret.”

The brit tossed Geoff a lopsided grin, made even more asymmetrical by his still-healing shiner.  “You know you love me, Geoffrey.”

“Like the son I never wanted,” he snorted. His smirk had a slight tinge of genuinity to it, though, which only made Gavin’s grin stupider.

-

There was an unspoken warning among the city, whether it be business owners, criminals, or just innocent bystanders. The Fake AH Crew was not to be fucked with. However, Officer Reynold Johnson did not believe they were as big of a threat as the others made them out to be. Yes, he was the one that uncovered them, but he didn’t really see them as that big of a deal. They were just another group of hot shots trying to be cool by breaking the law. If that was how they were going to play, then he’d would play with them.

What the elderly police officer had not expected was that they were already at his office, ready to win their game.

The gunfire and screams were his first hint that something was amiss. The second was the explosion that disabled the backup security alarms. The third the door banging open, and a man clad in a skull mask grabbing him and smothering his face with a wet cloth before he could even cock his gun. There wasn’t any room in his mind to think after that, as the world around him faded rapidly.

-

“Good work, boys.”

These were the three words Reynold Johnson woke up to. Instinctively, he moved to his holster, but found that his hands were bound. The room was dark, save for some sort of spotlight on him. He knew there were six people in the room besides him, but he couldn’t see much of any of them besides the fact that they held champagne flutes in their hands. It was all very dramatic, to say the least.

“Good evening, Officer. I trust you had a safe journey?” One man said, stepping into the light to reveal himself as none other than Geoff Lazer Ramsey. When the police man went to make a snarky retort, he found that he was gagged. “Oh, sorry about that. Rude, right? Let me fix that.”

As soon as the gag was gone, a slurry of words left his mouth, still slowed down from the chloroform.

“Ha! Some move you’ve made, Ramsey! Kidnapping the chief of police. The town will pay whatever ransom you have thrown on my head, twice over if the wanted!”

“Now, now, Officer. Who said there was a ransom?”

Johnson stiffened. “You’re letting me go for free?”

The mustached man chuckled. “You could say that.”

One of the shadowed men stepped forward when Ramsey signalled for him, handing the boss a pipe bomb. He tucked it into the officer’s collar, then signalled something to the others. They all poured their drinks out, the puddle settling right under Johnson.

“Cheers, officer.”

As soon as they walked away, the bomb started to tick.

-

Six men walked away from the flames, each with completely different reactions.

A scoff. “Wow, that was ridiculously theatrical.”

A shrug. “Whatever gets the public off.”  

A gag. “That’s disgusting, Michael.”

A worried mumble. “Shit, did I forget to turn off the lights when we left?”

A clap on the back. “The chief of police is dead, and you’re worrying about the lights? You’ve got an interesting list of priorities.”

A happy-go-lucky grin. “So where should we hit next, boys?”

None of them were anything like the others, and it worked out in their favor. Most of the time.

-

A woman walked away from the scene, connecting to a communication system in her ear.

“They’ve killed the Officer. The tracking device is planted. I’m going home.”

“Excellent work, O’ Connell. You are dismissed for the night. Report back tomorrow at 8:00 for a briefing on your next assignment.”

“Crystal clear, Burns. Griffon out.”

A woman watched from a distance as six men piled into a large car. The mustached man looked in her direction, but didn’t catch sight of her. She grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> (Headcanon: Geoff likes to stage really dramatic murders sometimes, because he likes the attention that comes with them. So when he saw there were an assortment champagne flutes in the warehouse, he begged the guys to let him stage a really dramatic killing instead of just leaving the officer there with a bullet in his brain. Jack almost wouldn't let him, but Geoff gave him the most devastating puppy eyes. Jack wonders why he works for such a man some days.) 
> 
> Bow chicka bow wow Griffon on da loose
> 
> Comments? Questions? Concerns? Message me at cyan-shenanigans.tumblr.com or Hammer at burnieplease.tumblr.com! Or comment here, 'cause we'll answer them either way. :3  
> -Time


End file.
